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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115129">Carmen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xEdoru/pseuds/xEdoru'>xEdoru</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kill Your Darlings (2013)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gaslighting, Homicide, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Pedophilia, Unreliable Narrator, no graphic scenes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:28:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xEdoru/pseuds/xEdoru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He became a young God, a master of his own fate. And he would make them all revere him, feed his need for adoration, as they watched him burn bright.<br/>After all, he already paid for this privilege with silence. </p><p>A journey through the tales Lucien spins to escape his reality.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucien Carr/Allen Ginsberg, Lucien Carr/David Kammerer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Carmen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please check the tags and warnings before reading.<br/>Characters based on my thoughts on their portrayal in the 2013 film, please keep in mind this is a work of fiction, based on another work of fiction. None of this work is historically accurate.<br/>Title from Lana Del Ray song.<br/>Hope you enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was never a stranger to attention and admiration. A bright kid with a dazzling smile, he felt these moths single him out as the only light source in each room he strode into. His peers believed every wild tale he spun, throwing himself into roles inspired by the books he devoured nightly. His teachers fawned over his sharp mind and propensity to twist each of their questions into something more substantial and thought provoking. His mother poured love enough for two into him, and he felt his vessel creak and expand to accommodate.</p><p>Lucien’s father found a different light to grab his attention. He wasn’t sure if he could forgive that betrayal.</p><p>He met <strong>him</strong>, and it was a fleeting feeling, but there was a finality to them even then. The way <strong>he</strong> taught him how to whittle with a knife. Take branches offered by trees, carve them into his vision. Looking back, maybe he too was slowly shaped into someone else’s ideal his whole life.</p><p>Back then he was but twelve and the world began opening itself up before him, tearing down the curtains of childhood simplicity and innocence, one after another. He no longer merely thrived in the awe he inspired - he craved it more than breath itself. And <strong>he</strong> gave it so willingly, quickly made him the most precious thing in <strong>his</strong> world. Only he could ignite such passion and occupy the mind, <strong>he</strong> declared amorously amidst the trees. He had gained control over <strong>his</strong> heart, without even trying. It made him feel invincible and brittle all the same. For God must be fed by belief, and rely on followers to nourish Him to greatness.</p><p>Lucien could no longer return as pure lost lamb to another’s congregation.</p><p>Then his mother found incriminating love confessions and obsessive prose he had hidden. To keep as proof. Remind himself of the dawn of his adolescence. She saw what he feared - corruption, taint, sickness. Yet in her eyes he was God-fearing and innocent, and the fault fell on <strong>him</strong>. Lucien knew better. <strong>He</strong> was the follower, her own son the Maker.</p><p>Explanation caught in his throat, a fake God’s words stolen in punishment for giving into the temptation of idolatry.</p><p>Threat of separation skewed unbearable, the ground breaking open under his feet into a void he’s seen within himself before. What would become of them?</p><p>He need not have worried. After all, without God there was nothing; and so <strong>he</strong> followed.</p><p>To Massachusetts, to Maine.</p><p>The hunger and sickness spreading through him demanded explanation, as he blossomed from child to higher being. There were many burnt to a crisp as he turned supernova. And more of his words disappeared with each devotee.</p><p>Eventually, he discovered he possessed not only the power of attraction, of receiving love from everyone around. All wishes could be granted if he batted his eyelashes or smirked just right. The false promise of release was a spell few could disentangle themselves from. And he spun the web so skilfully they all vied for the chance to dive into it. </p><p>It was a wild dance, always staying close enough to touch, but too far to hold.</p><p>And they fell one by one, enchanted. Ready to sell their souls to simply gaze upon him for a second longer, to be transformed in his glow. <strong>He</strong> warned it was a dangerous path to take. That he was losing himself to the ever growing emptiness of his vessel. But he knew he only needed love to be whole. He asked for reverence and adoration in exchange for a new life, inspiration, glory. Every day he made himself more myth than boy.</p><p>And he needed something to cling onto when the emptiness threatened to swallow him whole. Some days he let himself float on the sea of nihilism, dreaming of escape to far off lands. Mexico, perhaps?</p><p>He was too unstable and unproductive, breaking under the pressure, <strong>he</strong> told him. Offered support and undying love. Said <strong>he</strong> would do anything to keep him.</p><p>Lucien burned in love, in sin, in fear.</p><p>He chose to take advantage of the promise to his heart’s content, pushing and testing the lengths to which <strong>he</strong> would go. In exchange for words, he partied, and ran, and hid. Cut oaths from the hearts he broke.</p><p>Made <strong>him</strong> work for it. <strong>He</strong> elevated him to Godhood, so Lucien revelled in watching resentment grow from unrewarded reverence.</p><p>Unable to find his own words, he remained stuck in this cage of another’s making. He couldn’t get away if he wanted, and he was just too busy burning out to try.</p><p>In Chicago he tried to keep control. He shone with brilliance, teachers and students alike reeled in by quick wit and wild ideas he didn’t even try to put in writing anymore. But it couldn’t last long, just like <strong>he</strong> predicted. Spiralling out of control, with no one except <strong>him</strong> caring to understand the meaning behind in his actions. There was no way out except to be martyred. Perhaps he could perform his words, like all tragic heroes. What better way to shift into legend?</p><p>They went to Mexico, where he felt peace. Experienced the perfect day. The holes in his heart filled, as he let himself be content with his situation. He was the reason <strong>he</strong> lived, and loved. No one else could make <strong>him</strong> feel like this. No one else could make Lucien feel so much. He thought only cynical poets and philosophers denied the pure pleasure of infatuation, now the lines between love and torment blurred. But just then, lounging in the sun and planning his final escape, he didn’t worry about future happiness.</p><p>He failed to go. The plan was simple, quiet, seemingly easy, but <strong>he</strong> was too smart. Too attentive. Perhaps it was a final rejection from God. Perhaps <strong>his</strong> hold on him was too strong even for the heavens.</p><p>Their perfect day passed never to return. He moved to New York. The world turned dark and he tried to burn even brighter to compensate. Kept his mouth shut on nothing except the things that didn’t happen. Seeking someone shiny and new to worship him, before the disciple inevitably arrived. <strong>He</strong>, who’d follow him until the end of the Earth.</p><p>And this time Lucien went to the zoo and sympathised too much with the tiger. Pacing around its cage, performing scripted danger to amuse the crowd. Never free enough to hurt its captor.</p><p>Grand ideas and plans plagued his thoughts, refusing to appear on paper before his eyes. Barely passing his lips to be spoken into existence. Maybe someone else could shape them, breathe life into them for him?</p><p>Meeting a new believer always filled him with glee. The expanded vessel of his heart hoping to be flooded with devotion. It wasn’t a dull, jaded academic seeking some excitement this time. Those round, big eyes reminded him of a young boy, unspoiled. He wanted to tear that innocence from him.</p><p>
  <em>“I love first times. I want my life to be composed of them.”</em>
</p><p>He brought Allen to the party. But for what, to make a point that <strong>he</strong> was replaceable? It didn’t matter, he was a falling star burning out across the sky, drawing stunned awe at the beauty. What could anyone of his congregation want, but to earn his affection and an opportunity to dance to his beat.</p><p>
  <em>“<strong>He</strong> said <strong>he</strong> was my guardian angel, but that I was too much work.”</em>
</p><p>The team formed from formidable men, all more mighty than the glib God holding their fates in desperate hands.</p><p>He was there, keeping them together, knowing they would inspire greatness in each other. These bright minds, all incapable of giving him what he wanted most - his own words. A better, bigger story than his own. After all, there was nothing poetic about fear and sickness within. The emptiness he sought to fill with drugs and alcohol, cigarettes and love-struck eyes of a boy worth ten of himself. Or the longing to see it all end without ever doing enough to make it stick.</p><p>And they tried to do his bidding, they did steal his words. He couldn’t write them, but they did. Forgetting themselves, blinded to their own thoughts by sparks of his brilliance.</p><p>
  <em>“I’m only good at beginnings.”</em>
</p><p>It was the truth. He spoke it into being so.</p><p>
  <em>“Be careful, you are not in Wonderland. I’ve heard the strange madness long growing in your soul.”</em>
</p><p>Allen read him like a book, and although some pages remained stuck together, unread, he knew Lucien now. There was no going back. But his guardian angel wanted to save him from addiction to his own madness, pull him out of the filth of his soul. Drunken, whispered confessions made him tumble into a want he hadn’t known before.</p><p>
  <em>“I love complicated.”</em>
</p><p>He repeated Lucien’s catchphrase, the clumsy flirt. And so he kept asking for more, for essays and ideas and drugs, because the moment they stopped paying tribute, he’d be lost and powerless. He had danced to this tune for so many years, he couldn’t change the record now. Besides, what want could a God have for a guardian anyhow?</p><p>Some nights he wandered if he was only silenced willingly, but it never mattered. All words and interpretations were forced onto him from the start. His mother saw him unbent and unblemished, <strong>he</strong> regretted ever granting him divinity, the others saw potential wasted behind a curtain of obscenity and frivolity.</p><p>Another blood oath, from an unbroken heart. This one felt bigger, unfamiliar. He didn’t dare hope he found something he couldn’t spoil.</p><p>
  <em>“This is just the beginning.”</em>
</p><p>Yet it made him want to believe that someone good will save him with those stolen kisses, and gentle fingers in his hair.</p><p>He was testing the relationship, weary and tired of the cycle. He didn’t want to be kept hostage in misdeeds again. He prophesied and despaired. Would Allen step into the same role, fill <strong>his</strong> shoes, and hang on blindly. Do anything he demands just to steal him from his captor? And if so, would Lucien want it that way. To be a Maker once more. To use his adoration instead, and merely remodel the church. Wouldn’t it only prove that it was his fault all along?</p><p>What if he was just doomed to repeat the same game of cat and mouse, never knowing which he truly embodied. Wanting to run away and never come back.</p><p>He always came back.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>“Stop, Lu. You’re losing control again. You know what comes next. I know what comes next.”</strong> </em>
</p><p>There was no reason to expect the cycle to change. They were connected in this tango over the deep abyss of his soul for seven long years. Lucien wondered how quickly time passed, yet nothing of importance changed. There was something magical about the number seven. With every passing day, the present reminded him of the finality of their first meeting. Perhaps it was a sign to drown the candles, hang the choir, burn the church.</p><p>He wanted to reject <strong>him</strong> publicly, make sure they would keep him honest. Keep them apart.</p><p>Bill rolled his four eyes in disbelief as he watched the spectacle play out. He saw it happen before, and he seemed determined to not be made a fool of by believing it wouldn’t happen again. They were, Lucien and <strong>he</strong>, the cycle of life. A wheel of self-abuse.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>“You said I was everything to you. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“<strong>You</strong>’d be boring if it weren’t for me.”</em>
</p><p>He needed someone else to step up, to expand the circle with him past the breaking point.</p><p>But they wouldn’t, would they? <strong>He</strong> was needed for the work they undertook. The work Lucien dreamt and oversaw. Much more needed than someone whose fingers haven’t created anything for the better part of a decade.</p><p>Nevertheless, <strong>he</strong> slumped away in humiliation. The promised eternal post abandoned at last. Allen jumped into it eagerly, proud to take on <strong>his</strong> mantle. And Lucien crumbled in triumph, in regret, in defeat. Ran away to test his new disciple’s faith.</p><p>Enraptured and enraged, <strong>he</strong> returned. Begging for forgiveness, to resume guarding his temple. Rejected without remorse. <strong>He</strong> showed the truth of the insanity he had induced from the start.</p><p>
  <em>“What kind of sick son of a bitch would do something like this?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It was <strong>David</strong>.”</em>
</p><p>The cat filled his place, sluggish and choking on gas against its wishes. A message from <strong>him</strong><em>.</em> What he was once stopped from completing in Chicago, <strong>he</strong> could finish. But now Lucien had tasted hope, and no longer wanted to disappear. With or without words, he wanted to live.</p><p>He wouldn’t go back. Had to run away for good, lose the trail and create a new path for himself. And he couldn’t take a chance on his guardian angel, lest he too tried to drag him into pits of hell. Not with those once innocent eyes dulled like <strong>his</strong>. Disillusioned with his signature transience. They planned to sail away with Jack, start a new story out of reach of the maddening church of <strong>his</strong> creation.</p><p>Still, he wanted to bid farewell to Allen. The resulting confusion and fury expected, though not appreciated.</p><p>
  <em>“You got what you wanted. You were ordinary, just like every other freshman, and I made your life extraordinary. Go be you now, all by yourself. Leave me alone.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don't really mean that.”</em>
</p><p>They almost make it onto the ship, ready to chase their dream of Paris. Fuelled by fear of pursuit. By now he should have known it wasn’t enough to finish what he started. <strong>He</strong> remained inevitable. A famished ghoul, a vulture circling the dying. A rabid dog which sticks to its Master despite abuse.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I packed for both of us. We can leave.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“The reason I am leaving is <strong>you</strong>.”</em>
</p><p>Every decision he ever made was cornering him into this reality of sin and obsession. Useless to try leaving without burning all bridges, boats, planes. Because it was always <strong>him</strong> who guided Lucien’s hands at the start. <strong>He</strong> was in charge of that whittling knife all those years.</p><p>They took a walk, aware of the spectacle <strong>he</strong> could make of them just like before. Argued, squabbled, brawled. He felt the smouldering of pent up anger long burning within him take over. There were so many things he wanted to put into words, finally finding the strength to push them past the barrier of his mind.</p><p>
  <em>“I was just a kid!”</em>
</p><p>When had that mattered before?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“How can you say that? You know that’s not true. I will never give up on us.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>Was it untrue, was he only fooling himself into forgiveness of the primal sin? He couldn’t remember, memories too hazy with questionable causality. Was he ever merely a child, and not God? Hearing <strong>his</strong> conceited declaration, for a moment he felt like the former.</p><p>A lunge came unexpected, unexplained if in attack or affection. He cared not to make distinctions or give consent. Lucien couldn’t stand <strong>his</strong> inclination to parade their sin in public.</p><p>He spun out of reach, threw the well-acquainted hands off.</p><p>The childhood knife came out. A thinly veiled threat to give <strong>him</strong> pause, poetic rebuttal.</p><p><strong>He</strong> looked defeated, betrayed, distraught.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Now I know what you felt. When you wanted to die.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>He gripped the knife in hesitant hands. Whole body shaking in anger or in fear, he couldn’t decide. This time, he had to carve this reality for himself.</p><p>Trembling, he stepped off the pedestal <strong>he</strong> built, plummeting down.</p><p>And then it was over. Water washed his hands clean, closing yet another chapter that would remain unspoken, unseen. More pages glued in Lucien’s book forever. In the end, there was as much release as entanglement.</p><p>Because, in sickness or in health, in life or in death, the circle closed around him. Once again he was imprisoned by <strong>him</strong>.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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